Pressure
Harry took one last gulp of thick misty air before breaking and entering. The glass-stained window shattered with one flick of his wand.
They should have guarded the barrier more heavily, Harry thought to himself. He viewed the lackadaisical security as an open invitation.
The inside of the massive house was bone chillingly cold and deathly silent. The floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he cautiously wandered further into the home. It seemed like the narrow hallway went on for miles in the pitch dark.
“Lumos.”
A large standing mirror to Harry’s left momentarily startled himself. After lowering his wand, he peered at his reflection while flattening tangled hair against his head.
His ears were expectantly perked as he heard a shuffling down the hall beside him. A short wrinkly creature emerged from around the corner, and Harry was quick to the trigger.
“Petrificus Totalus!”
The elderly house elf dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.
“Sorry mate,” Harry half-genuinely muttered as he stepped over the household servant.
A pleasant scent of roses and firewood wafted down the hall as his feet led him toward the sitting room. The sofas were still indented from being occupied not so long ago. The fireplace was freshly extinguished as well as the candelabras that stood on the mantle.
Following the quick stunning spell and finding that he was indeed alone at this point, Harry took a much-needed seat on the couch.
But there was no time for rest.
Harry’s eyes hastily examined the Marauder’s Map as he settled. Naturally, his eyes instinctively centered upon the Gryffindor Common Room. Among the gathered crowd were the names Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Ginny and the other Weasleys were beside them.
Harry made an audible sigh of relief.
Although the Gryffindor checked the Map at least twice a day upon his escape, he never knew when the tides could shift.
Would shift.
It was nearly midnight and Harry needed to find a place to lay his head down. Luckily, each hall intersected to another that was fully supplied by guest bedrooms and bathrooms.
Purposefully avoiding the master bedroom and the one that was already inhabited upstairs, he settled upon a humble-sized bedroom on the first floor.
Harry dumped the entirety of his pockets onto the Victorian style bed with lavish surroundings. The Map, his wallet, his wand, and his most sacred item; the Invisibility Cloak that was tightly secured in his jacket.
Harry decided to sleep directly alongside his belongings neatly piled on of the empty pillow beside his head.
Even though he was running on almost 2 nights of not sleeping, the Chosen One could not get a wink of sleep. An endless supply of adrenaline pumped through his veins. He couldn't hide the insatiable rush of ecstasy ever since his administration of the Killing Curse.
Although he could not put his mind to rest, his body ached in discomfort. Thus, Harry decidedly folded his hands across his chest and stared at the ceiling until sunrise.
--
Harry hopped to his feet and headed for the front door at the first sign of sunlight. He was pleased to find that the newspaper appeared on the doorstep at the usual time of 6 AM.
Revisiting his spot on the sofa from the previous night and lowering into the seat, he fanned TheDaily Prophet open.
The Ministry could no longer deny the fact that Voldemort was back in the flesh.
Dumbledore was somewhere in the world, Harry didn’t care. His eyes jumped to the next article.
A swarm of Death Eaters were reported fleeing from somewhere located in Wiltshire. Narcissa Malfoy was spotted among them on a high-profile tour following Bellatrix’s death.
Lord Voldemort’s right-hand witch, Bellatrix Lestrange, has been confirmed dead. Was this by Dumbledore’s protection or the Chosen One’s vengeance? Harry Potter has not returned to Hogwarts since the event took place, and wizards and witches believe-
Harry didn’t continue the sentence. He reasoned that he wouldn’t torture himself over repetitive slander.
Although the Prophet got it right this time, Harry smiled. But Bellatrix wasn't killed by Dumbledore’s protection or instruction.
His eyes jumped to the main article he had been seeking:
Lucius Malfoy has been given a lifetime sentence in Azkaban - as Harry was already acutely aware - His involvement as a Death Eater has been taken into serious measures and is being handled accordingly by new leadership at the Ministry.
Harry placed the unfolded Prophet against the marble table and leaned forward in his seat with fingers interlaced. His vision left the newspaper and slowly dragged upward at the tall painted portrait hanging over the fireplace across from him.
Lucius Malfoy looked much younger in the painting yet maintained a malevolent expression that radiated hatred and pureblood superiority. Beside him was his proud wife Narcissa with her hands clasped before herself. She was beautiful, having the ability to smile as a younger adult. Standing between them was their platinum blonde son with arms folded and a slick smirk. Clenched tightly in one of Draco’s hands was his wand.
Harry could recognize that smug smile from his first or second year at Hogwarts.
--
2 Days Ago
Harry found his footing as he touched down just outside of Wiltshire through use of Apparition. He spent most of his time perched outside of the Malfoy Manor watching.
Waiting.
Harry solely relied upon a simple eavesdropping jinx and the anonymity of his Invisibility cloak. Lurking through curtain-spread and visually mapping out a blueprint of their house had become an intriguing pass time.
Witnessing the Malfoy name viciously spiral down the drain was a sight to behold.
It only took 1 short day for the grave news on Lucius Malfoy to reach the masses. His celebrity paired with informed suspicion of being a Death Eater resulted in a lifetime sentence in Azkaban.
Lucius walked with dignity that day, wandless and powerless in shackles, while being taken into custody by a swarm of Aurors.
Narcissa Malfoy was frantic; her husband had been imprisoned, and her sister was simultaneously murdered.
The topic regarding Bellatrix’s death was more uncertain than Lucius’ predicament. It was up to debate whether Dumbledore, Harry, someone from the Order, or even Voldemort himself had killed the renowned Death Eater.
After all, Bellatrix Lestrange was a fierce representation of the murderous pureblood cult.
Harry rejoiced at the thought as a small smirk turned the corners of his lips.
The act of killing Bellatrix Lestrange had left a noticeable indifference to his psyche. But he could physically feel an odd mixture of euphoric energy and heavy pressure that had been lifted.
A release from a certain pressure that he was yet unable to specify, even to himself.
The discomforting mental sensation had been building within Harry for many, many years that screamed to be released.
Killing the murderer of his god uncle was the most satisfying rush of serotonin he had felt since catching the snitch for the first time.
The immense power provided by his incantation was an overwhelming shock at first. But it was cast with minimal hesitation and provided an intoxicating release from the pressure unlike anything he had ever felt in his life.
Pressure, he ultimately settled, was the most descriptive word to describe what he had been experiencing. The momentary relief from the mental phenomena provided by his wand was like a drug he was itching to fix.
Perhaps I could find ways to self-remedy this ongoing ‘pressure’ by taking matters into my own hands.
Harry was in such deep thought that he almost neglected to hear the lock on the front door slide open with one click.